


The Pain was Beating on Me Like a Drum

by Lesty



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Bascially a Character Study, Classic Doctor Who References, Gen, Multi, Other tag in notes bc spoilers, Post-Episode: s10e12 The Doctor Falls, Regeneration, The Master's Drums (Doctor Who), no beta we typo like mne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:11:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23412115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lesty/pseuds/Lesty
Summary: He coughed violently, the force of it shaking his body as he stumbled out of the elevator - oh, wasn't that a sight. Golden dust spun in the air; artron energy. It was his, wasn't it.--Or, the Master regenerates after getting stabbed in the back
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Twelfth Doctor/Missy, if you squint
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	The Pain was Beating on Me Like a Drum

**Author's Note:**

> When quarantined, re-watch Doctor Who lolol, I'm not sure how the formatting will be for this but I've tried my best
> 
> -
> 
> SPOILER WARNINGS
> 
> This fic features the Gomez!Master follows Dhawan!Master theory, because it popped up on tumblr and I just thought it was so interesting, and wanted to play with it for a bit
> 
> About show spoilers, I've tried to make sure nothing for the season 12 season finale is spoiled, but, because I wanted to kinda examine what Master!Simm's mindset would have to be for Master!Dhawan to be as batshit wonderful as he is, I wanted Master!Simm's introspection to be something that would linger in Master!Dhawan and later Missy's subconsciousness to explain why they took the certain actions that they did. I tried not to make it obvious (both for narrative reasons) and I think you'd need the context of seeing the episode to understand it, but I'm letting you know just in case =)
> 
> I'm also sorry if this is out of character, I find the Master an incredibly difficult character to write, which is part of the reason why I wrote this.

The Master could _feel_ his laughter. He could feel it in his chest, in the way his lungs constricted to give him air, he could feel it in his throat, which was sore – no, hoarse, but that was of no consequence. He could feel it in the air, in the way it echoed against the metal walls of the elevator, beating against his mind.

Everything beat against his mind.

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

That was funny, actually. _Very_ funny.

Did Missy hear them too?

She didn’t seem to have.

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Oh but how marvellous was that – the irony! Splendid, brilliant irony! He had stabbed himself in the back! Or, well, he was going to stab himself in the back, he hadn’t done it yet – but he had, he would, he will. Timestreams, they never really were that straightforward, were they? He loved it.

Could even ponder it over a tea.

Oh yes, one last cuppa before he goes.

What a plan.

It was an important lesson though, a crucial, powerful reminder. The Master couldn’t trust anyone. Not the pitiful creatures he loved to manipulate and control, not the enemies that had left him in dust, certainly not The Doctor, and, above all else, he would not, _could not,_ trust himself.

The Master never was the reliable type.

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

_It’s time to stand with The Doctor. _

The Master barked out a harsh laugh, rolled the phrase around his tongue, but never breathed the words aloud.

It was a shame, he really had been quite fond of Missy – had loved her, how could he not? They were the same.

Until they weren’t.

The Master couldn’t fathom it, it was pathetic, it was _foul_. Goodness, The Doctors brand of goodness, was rotten to its core. Hypocritical and utterly sentimental.

It was weakness.

 _He,_ was weakness.

And she had wanted to stand _with_ that? 

Unseemly.

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

He coughed violently, the force of it shaking his body as he stumbled out of the elevator - oh, wasn't that a sight. Golden dust spun in the air; artron energy. It was his, wasn't it.

No,

no,

no,

no,

**_no_.**

He wanted to growl, he wanted to scream.

He did scream.

It was too early for this to start, he needed to get to his TARDIS.

He wanted his damn tea.

His first heart failed, the one on the right, the one with the ugly colour – too red, it had been too red. There was such a thing, too, as a too red heart. When you have two hearts it’s easy to tell, one’s always more red than the other – honestly it’s never much of an issue.

Except when it’s too red.

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Fitting that it was the first to go.

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

The Master groaned, clutching the opening of the elevator as his body collapsed in on itself. No, this simply wouldn’t do – that foolish woman! He couldn’t lose his hearts now, _not now,_ not surrounded by all these bloody cybermen.

Oh – oh wait. Now, that was a good thing now, wasn’t it. The Cybermen, they were after individuals with two hearts, The Master didn’t have two hearts anymore. She really did plan this well.

The Master chuckled, he laughed until it turned into a cry.

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

She really _had_ planned this well. 

He really would plan this well.

Time. Funny thing.

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Now Cybermen, they were the only things about humans – well, human like people, in the Mondasians case, that The Master actually liked. He saw the beauty in them, the unrelenting emotionlessness of them. It was almost perverse, the way they brutally cut through planet after planet, timeline after timeline, utterly destroying every weak and awful thing that made humans, humans.

Mind-numbing sentiment and emotion, that’s what made a human.

Disgusting.

Weak.

The Master wasn’t sad, never sad, not for a Cyberman – not for anyone, but, as he watched the derelict, the forgotten, early models _he himself_ had helped design, stumble around doing their best for their more evolved, more advanced predecessors, The Master couldn’t help but feel… pensively despondent.

It was such a _waste_ – what an awful, brutal, waste. The Master had created the Cybermen! Built his very own genesis! And for what? For them to be destroyed?

Oh he knew, he knew some would survive, but it wouldn’t be the same now, would it? They would evolve, they would upgrade, and where would the fun be then? There would come a time where it’s not like they would be able to upgrade very much further, it would all end in the end.

End in the end.

The Master laughed.

End in the end.

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Although, they could still do with some work. It was almost depressingly easy to get past them. He practically strolled on through, pranced across the empty streets as he made his way to his TARDIS.

Oh – but wouldn’t it have been a sight, to glide past! To not have this golden haze dance across his fists, or this pounding in his head.

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Missy _really_ couldn’t hear them anymore, could she?

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

The Master coughed once, twice, and bowled himself over. He crashed onto the ground, a mess of flailing limbs entangling with the cold, un-forgivingness of the concrete. He whipped his head around, surprised that the Cybermen in the distance still didn’t seem to care for him, and then belatedly looked down.

Oh – that’s right, he’d been stabbed. Funny. He’d forgotten that.

 _Rassilion,_ that was a lot of blood.

An artwork of his blood, sketched out and immortalised on this very floor.

He hoped it would stain.

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

He wondered when it was going to start to hurt. ‘

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

He stumbled to his feet, using the wall beside him to support himself. The Cybermen were _stunning_ , their form, their unceasing bravado making like a visual wave imprinting itself onto his mind. It was a shame, a tragedy, really, that he couldn’t experiment with them more.

Make them a little bit less wasteful.

Or make them a little bit more beautiful.

He had to get to his TARDIS.

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

But The Master had created the genesis of the Cyberman, make no mistake now, The Doctor was wrong – he was always wrong, and there just couldn’t be such thing as parallel evolution, not for these things, these metal contraptions, this army of death and gleeful destruction.

No, not gleeful.

No emotions.

If they weren’t they would upgrade more than just humans, wouldn’t that be a sight! A collection of Cyber… CyberOod –

CyberAngels? No, how could you even begin to convert stone?

CyberAdipose –

No, CyberDaleks.

No, that wouldn’t work either.

It would need to be extraordinary, something powerful.

Something the Master could control, obviously.

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

 _Ah,_ there it was.

Burning, searing, raging in his lower back - the pain. It twisted through him like barbed wire winding his way across his body.

Such fun.

He grit his teeth and used the wall to leverage himself, leaning against it as he made his way to the TARDIS. It wasn’t far, he was close.

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Oh - what was that? It was getting cold.

Dry ice.

The wound was like bloody carbon dioxide solidifying itself inside him.

Down the next alleyway, and his TARDIS would be there, we was sure of it – utterly positive.

Time for a cuppa, then, he supposed.

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

The Master fell against the TARDIS door, cackling at the sight of it. He raised his fist, throwing it into the door and stumbled inside. The lights flickered, he squinted. Too bright.

It leaked everywhere, the atron energy, the blood.

It dripped onto the white floor, it’s redness – _Rassilion_ it was as bad as his right heart, _too red,_ stark against the blandness of the empty floor. He watched the blood spread, it went black, staining the porcelain tile.

Gold danced around him, climbing up his torso. The Master growled.

_Not now._

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

It was like an electric shock and it was gone, no more pain. The Master grazed his hand over where his wound once was, it was gone.

He touched his face, still the same.

That blasted too red heart was working though.

He coughed again, gold dust spun into the air.

No, it wouldn’t be over, once a regeneration started, it couldn’t be stopped.

Still though, he had time for a cuppa.

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

The Master sat by the console, mug in hand. He didn’t like the silence – loathed it, it played with his mind, made him go mad. He could hear it, beating incessantly. He wondered if it would stop now, as he was about to regenerate. If the call would _finally_ be over.

He knew fighting the regeneration energy was idiotic, that it was inevitable – but he didn’t want to be _her_ just yet.

He took a sip of his tea.

It was still quite hot.

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

One more round of it, one more go – he’d made sure of that now, hadn’t he.

The utter stupidity –

The idiotic sense to –

The senselessness of empathy –

And it would end tragically. No blaze of glory, no final, wonderful, exquisite moment of destruction. He would never be proven right.

No.

The Doctor was going to destroy him

Had he gone too far? – Not that it mattered, it never mattered. He’d rather it be him, he’d rather a stab in the back. That was right, that was on character for him, he supposed.

But one more time.

For Rassilion’s sake, he better make it a good one. Before he loses all senses.

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

_It’s time to stand with The Doctor._

At least he never would.

She had been weak, utterly, pathetically weak - no, that was wrong. She had taste, class, brilliantly executed his - well, his execution. He would be flattered, if it hadn't been himself doing the work.

But no, not weak.

Delicate.

Missy with her feeble hearts, she’d gone and _fallen in love_ with The Doctor, hadn’t she? At the very least she’d held some grandiose notion of herself, that somehow, by choosing that path, _his_ path, that she was somehow better than she was, better than The Master was now.

_This is where we’ve always been going._

The Master wanted to scream, to cry out until his voice was nothing.

He did.

_This is where we’ve always been going._

_Rassilion,_ she made it sound as if they were obsessed with The Doctor, like all this time, their lives have revolved around him, that they have always been intertwined with him.

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

The Master doubled over, the first memory coming to mind.

Two children, Koschei and Theta Sigma, and a promise, to travel the stars.

_No._

A dark star alloy broach, at a huge event, which was given to his daughter by his best friend.

_No._

Flinging the Nestene’s back into space by reversing the polarity. They’d worked together, when things were different, when they weren’t quite enemies yet.

_No._

Logopolis, his new body, and that damned Pharaoh’s satellite. A ridiculous grin with an even more ridiculous scarf. He hadn’t even said goodbye.

_No._

San Francisco and that godawful Ambulance driver. He’d wanted The Doctor’s remaining regenerations, The Doctor held his ashes.

_No._

The year that never was, which he didn’t remember a lot of, except being held. Being afraid, being so, _so_ angry, and being held.

_No._

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

The Master pawed his mug and hurled it against one of the roundels that decorated the walls. No. His life _did not_ revolve around The Doctor, The Doctor wasn’t everything, it certainly didn’t control The Master, and he most certainly wasn’t obsessed.

And Rassilion, wasn’t that the kicker?

He and The Doctor were the same, The Master knew that down to his very core. Brilliant, intelligent, dynamic men. All The Master ever had to do was prove it and then

Bam!  
  
The Doctor would know. The Doctor would know that he and The Master, were _exactly the same._

But those damned pesky _human_ emotions.

Compassion

Empathy

Love

Pathetic.

The Doctor had corrupted Missy, had made her delicate and soft. Nothing like the formidable woman The Master knew she was meant to be.

And look at them both, dying on a forgotten Mondassion ship falling into a black hole.

It wasn't just humans who needed a check - no, _a control_ on their emotions.

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

The tea was cold.

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

The Master groaned. He could feel it now, the artron energy building up inside him, like the kettle earlier just before the water finished boiling. There was nothing for it now, he didn’t want to regenerate on this back heap. With only his bare hands – because he didn’t have time to grab any of the tools he’d otherwise need, he ripped off the protective casing on the console, feeling the metal dig into his fingers and pull out his own blood. He forced the new de-materialisation circuit in, never bothering to close it back up.

He leapt up onto his feat. “Where to?” He cried out to the empty space. “Titan? Satellite 5” The Scoundrel Club?” The Master cackled gleefully. “Oh, it’s got to be The Scoundrel Club! I need more tea!”

He placed in the coordinates and threw down the lever just as his body began to tremble.

Oh, it was coming.

And it was going to be big.

Ba dum,

Ba dum,

Ba-

Every atom that made up The Masters body shot skyward as the TARDIS spun through the time vortex. Orange, golden, white flames burst from him, like a million, billion stars burning out all at once.

It was passionate, it was powerful, he could feel his body stretch and grow, he could feel his ears change shape, his fingers too. Every part of him was rebuilding itself, changing.

Then, as fast as it had begun, it was over.

The Master blinked, once, twice. His head was fuzzy, clouded like his mind had been dunked in fog. That was new. He pulled the monitor towards himself, it was important, to check, to make sure that he wasn’t…

Well, he wasn’t sure really.

Dark hair, that was the first thing he noticed – and the complexion! He wasn’t sure if he ever had been quite like this before, couldn’t remember really.

He wasn’t a woman, for some reason that felt important.

The Master blinked again, once, twice.

No, it wasn’t important.

Oh – oh but wait.

The Master grinned.

He couldn’t hear it.

It was gone.

The Master stretched, taking in the surroundings of his TARDIS. Somehow, it had remained pretty solidly intact. He frowned at a bloodstain on the floor, he couldn’t remember how it got there.

Ah – the fuzziness made sense now. There must have been some things that were missing. Like that terrifyingly attractive woman telling him to keep a spare de-materialisation circuit on him.

He’d need to go get one.

He rubbed his chin, he could grow a beard with this chin, a good, proper beard. The Master hadn’t had a beard in a long time. It would be good for him.

So would finding out why he was thinking about bloody Cybermen, of all things.

And CyberAdipose.

Which was ridiculous, because it would never work.

Neither would a Scottish accent.

Which made no sense.

The Master blinked.

Ridiculous.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find me on [tumblr](https://lesty-xx.tumblr.com/) if you want to say hi =)
> 
> \- 
> 
> The title comes from the Taylor Swift song "[Better Than Revenge](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ziRR-doZAtg)" because I have this thing where I name all my fics using her song lyrics aha


End file.
